


watch me soar

by Illulysto



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Arcana Swap (Persona Series), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auditory and Visual Hallucinations, Depression, F/F, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Original Personas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Queer Themes, Roleswap, Self-Esteem Issues, like right up front, only the pt are swapped
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illulysto/pseuds/Illulysto
Summary: Yoshizawa Sumire has lived in shadows her entire life. She knows her place, knows what she's worth and knows she can't do anything to change how the world sees her - much less how she sees herself. After hitting a breaking point leads her being sent to Tokyo to spend her first year of high school alone, all Sumire can do is keep her head down and hope that all the glares and self-doubt will come to pass.Fate, however, has other plans... The Arcana is absolute, but the cards themselves are always shifting. Sumire will have to make a choice: continue to let the shadows of society eclipse her, or finally take to the light and soar.(Or: an Arcanaswap AU where only the PT are swapped)
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kitagawa Yusuke, Morgana & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Niijima Makoto & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Original Yoshizawa Kasumi & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Phantom Thieves of Heart & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Sakura Sojiro & Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Takamaki Ann/Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Self-deprecating thoughts, depressive thoughts, visual hallucinations, identity issues, mentions of institutionalisation, instance of a panic/anxiety attack
> 
> Stay safe everyone!
> 
> 13/02/2021 Edit: Made a some (a lot) of tweaks.

Sumire sits on a bench by the Buchiko statue, scornfully tilting her head to the unfazed scramble crossing that spit her out mere moments before. Smoke wafting from the designated smoking area burns her already watery eyes. She’s tired, shoulders sagging and head drooping as hair curtains around her face. In the back of her head, the voice of her former coach lectures her on such bad posture - embedded deep from how many times she’s had to hear it - but ignores it in favour of squeezing her eyes shut. Perhaps it’ll drive the oncoming tears away.

It’s honestly sad that it’s only been about thirty minutes since she arrived in Tokyo and Sumire’s already way out of her depth. It’s frigid and unfamiliar with people bumping into her, scowling and walking away before she can apologise and ask for directions. It’s a different kind of invisible compared to how she’s treated in her hometown - the countless faceless crowds treating her just the same. Deep-seated loneliness thrives in her chest.

She’s also gotten hopelessly lost several times today. It took her forever just to find the station. To think she still has to navigate the subway and get to Yongen-Jaya before sundown.

Sumire inhales a lungful of city air to hold her tears back. She despises crying. She does it too often and none of these pedestrians deserves to see some teenager breaking down in the middle of Shibuya. She wants to go home, the temptation to undo all the aimless walking it took to get here singing softly through her ears, but she knows better than to try. It would just prove to everyone - the psychiatrists, her classmates, her parents - that they're _right_ : that Yoshizawa Sumire is a problem that can’t be fixed, even when you try to get rid of her.

It's times like these where Sumire thinks back to when she wasn’t like this; so weak, frightened and numb. Perhaps before she committed to gymnastics, even though it holds some of her most precious memories, like ice creams after meets, nailing a **tr** **icky routine, looking into the crowd as she wins gold after gold after-**

Ah. Right. Sumire blinks away the little rainbow lapping at the corner of her sight. Now’s not the time to be distracted by thoughts of someone she’s _not_. Delusions like those are the reason she’s here, after all. Those and a multitude of mental and behavioural issues that her family don’t want to deal with anymore. With a pointed exhale she straightens her hair, stands up and pushes her tears and the budding phantom pain between her eyes to the back of her mind. She made this mess and there’s nothing she can do about it now.

The inside of her bag beeps on her way to the station. It might be a text from Sakura-san, the guardian her parents told her about, so she digs around (avoids the soft sensation at the bottom) and finds a red and black eyeball app that wasn’t there before. Clearly spam. Sumire moves to delete it only for it to take up the entirety of her screen like an ominous pop-up. Nothing happens when she taps it. The pain from before pulses as she sighs. Of course her phone would download some stupid malware the minute she might need it.

Then something sparks in her periphery. It’s probably something catching the light - this city’s flashy by design - but she can’t help but look up.

Her throat goes dry.

Sumire comes face-to-face with a pillar of blue flames towering over her. They shift and crackle, morphing into a thin figure with long legs. Wing-like plumes flush from its middle to engulf the crowds, completely oblivious to the spectacle in plain sight. Sumire doesn’t know if what leaves her mouth is a shout or a soundless gasp as her body roots itself to the ground and the flames surround her, expecting to catch alight, but nothing the fire touches burns.

The figure seems to look down at her and Sumire, transfixed, stares back. Ice flows through her veins, her heart pumping the cold throughout her body with fervour. Yet strangely, she doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t even feel the inclination to find this as strange as it should be. Instead, the fires feel like a home she'd never known she had. Orange and yellow flames burst near the head amongst the blue to form a face with a crescent mouth and pointed eyes, invoking a playfulness in her heart she hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Her own face flashes within them, eyes a brilliant yellow and expression contorted in sadistic glee. Sumire doesn’t know why, but she feels her lips tugging to mirror it.

_**...am th..u… Thou ar… I…** _

The next time she blinks, the figure’s gone. A heady lightness enters Sumire’s body like she’s been dreaming. Perhaps she still is, since that’s the only way something like… that, could’ve happened. Sumire knows she sometimes hears and sees things realistic enough for her to double-take, like when people call her by _someone else’s_ name or seeing _someone else_ in reflections. She’s used to them, has had them ever since-

Sumire pinches her arm through her blazer before that thought can go anywhere. It stings enough to be real (like the fire), along with what’s definitely a headache properly forming. She shakes her head. Best forget about it and find her train. She hopes Sakura-san hasn’t been waiting too long…

* * *

It takes an unnecessarily long time, but when Sumire finally stands in front of a cafe named Leblanc, she allows herself a single deep sigh. By this point, she’s more than exhausted and all she wants is to lie down and stop existing for a while (or more), but she can’t. She still has to greet her guardian. Clenching her hands around her bag strap, possibilities of all the ways things could go wrong flit through her head and she has to swallow her growing nausea before it shows on her face. She has to make this work. A good impression will go a long way.

Sumire sucks in a breath, straightens her back and heads inside.

The aroma of coffee and spices invades Sumire’s nose the second she enters. The atmosphere is warm and homey enough to briefly ease the ever-present nerves stirring in her chest. It’s surprising how empty the place is, save for the aproned man behind the counter. She hopes her stomach doesn’t make any audible noises, because whatever’s in that pot smells delicious.

The man looks up from the counter and squints as he notices her. In a gruff voice, he recites a practised, “Welcome. What can I do for ya?”

Sumire swallows and unclasps her hands from her bag to not seem too antsy or shy. Though when she says, “Hello there. Is Sakura Sojiro here?” it comes out soft and timid anyway.

The man crosses his arms. “That would be me. And you are...” Realisation lights up his eyes and passes through his glasses. “Ah… They did say it was today.” 

Sakura-san comes around the counter to confirm he’s indeed her guardian for the year. He seems at least cooperative with this whole arrangement, which relieves Sumire to an extent. She wants to like him, though it’s more imperative for him to like her right now; her own expectations can wait. Sakura-san leads her past the bathroom and up the stairs to an attic blanketed in dust and junk, the only new-looking thing being a thin mattress propped up by milk crates in the corner. Upon seeing how confused Sumire must look, Sakura-san tells her that this is her room. 

She almost visibly baulks. _Here? Above a cafe?_

“What? You got something to say?” Sakura-sa- Sakura asks, completely unfazed that he’s asking a teenager to stay in an _attic_. Was there any attempt made to prepare the place apart from the bed? 

Still, Sumire bites the inside of her cheek before she can say something that might get her kicked out, clenching her hands where he can’t see them and replying, “It’s fine. Just… big.”

Sakura shrugs. “I don’t have space in my house to keep a teenager for a year, so you’ll have to deal with this or no place at all.” He’s lying. Sumire walked past his house on the way here and it had two storeys. “I lock up the shop at the end of the day, so I expect you to behave while you’re by yourself, yeah?”

He’s really keen on treating Sumire like a dirty little secret, keeping her away from his own home. She wonders why he's agreed at all. 

“I also know the gist of your situation- or as much as your parents and your psychiatrist were willing to tell me.” Sumire can’t help the way her shoulders hunch inward, suddenly too exposed. She doesn’t need a recap, not when that embarrassment has been replaying in her head since it happened. Still, he goes on, “From what I understand, you had some sort of episode at a gymnastics practice last month, right? Started screaming, crying, fighting people off... A real scene. A psychiatrist told your parents that unless they wanted you thrown in a centre, the next best thing would be a complete change in environment with no triggers that could set you off.” He chuckles humorlessly, “And they decided this was the best place for it.”

Bitter shame fills Sumire’s mouth. A scene? Is that all it is to him? She’d expected Sakura to know some of it, but even _those_ details?

“Now, I take it you know the consequences of not complying with all this?” She’s about to nod obediently before he holds out his hand and lists said consequences out on his fingers anyway, “Not taking your meds, underperforming at school, causing any trouble; any of that will guarantee you a trip to the nearest mental hospital - out of sight and out of everyone’s hands. Got that?” 

Her nails dig into her palms with a sting. It feels far away.

Sakura seems to expect an answer, probably hoping his judgemental glower will remind Sumire how powerless she is (she already knows). She half-expects the welling of tears behind her eyes again, is prepared to hide them, but instead feels something prickly in her gut. Sumire knows what she is and why she’s here - has become intimately aware of each and every flaw packed in her burdensome body and how everyone around her decided they couldn’t handle her anymore. She knows this is her own fault, but having these flaws listed out in agonising detail, constantly, under the guise of helping is enough to make her want to smash something. It’s nothing more than empty pity. None of this **wo** **uld be happening if she was more like her.**

Sumire realises she’s spiralling and shakes her head, all the liquid loathing in her body vanishing in steam. Her cheeks and eyebrows hurt like she’s been furrowing them, like she’s been… visibly angry. Then she looks up to resume Sakura’s lecture only to find his eyes wide and staring at her. _Shit. Shit shit shit-_

In an instant, everything in Sumire’s body tenses, head shooting to the floor. She doesn’t dare breathe. _She messed up, she messed up already, of course she-_

Then a tired sigh cuts through the dust. Her head lifts enough to see that Sakura’s stance seems gentler now. 

He attempts to smooth the tension, his voice betraying an air of sympathy, “Listen kid, it’s harsh but true. Society doesn't like to provide for people with problems like yours, so things are gonna be extra tough for you. All you can do is listen to what people tell you and behave yourself. This is what happens when you act out, regardless if it’s actually your fault…” 

Sumire inspects his tone and is unsure how to respond. Her gut reaction tells her it’s more pity and her insides instinctively roil. On the other hand, he at least sounds honest about it. She takes it with a grain of salt. At this point, she’s more relieved he isn’t kicking her out for giving him accidental attitude.

With a shrug, Sakura begins to walk back down the stairs, turning back to tell her about the cleaning supplies in the bathroom, where he put her prescription and to keep the noise down. She’s about to start unpacking when Sakura’s voice from downstairs makes her jump. 

“And none of that ‘Sakura-san’ stuff. Makes me feel old. Boss or Sojiro is fine.” 

Then Sumire’s alone again. The pressure on her shoulders rolls off at last, but she’s not sure if she likes the floatiness that comes with it.

Later, when the attic’s as clean as it can get and Sakura (she won’t call him Sojiro or Boss just yet) has left, Sumire tries out hairstyles in the mirror of Leblanc’s cramped bathroom. She tells herself it’s for the meeting at Shujin tomorrow, to make a good impression, but really she just wants to look different enough to separate herself from the old Sumire - the one from her hometown - and have a little control over this mess of a year. 

That, and doing everything to delay sleeping in that sorry excuse for a bed and confirming today as real. She feels annoyed for feeling so sorry for herself; this is where she’s staying now, and she’ll just have to deal with it.

Sumire bunches her hair into twin-tails that make her look nine, feels stupid and lets her hair fall back over her shoulders. None of her ideas have worked, all ending back at classic Sumire - unremarkable and demure. Fortunately, she has one more hairstyle she wants to try. 

She goes upstairs, rummages through her bag with her eyes closed until she feels something (she shouldn’t have) and heads back to the bathroom without looking at it. Back in front of the mirror, Sumire exhales as she holds out a bright arm-length ribbon, red and almost glittering like a precious jewel. It’s fine and delicate, not a thread out of place as she runs it reverently between her fingers.

_Her_ ribbon.

Sumire feels she’s doing something forbidden just by looking at it, let alone touching or _wearing_ it, but here in the middle of Tokyo, there’s no one to stop her. Even still, as if she’ll get caught at any moment, Sumire gathers the strands of hair beside her face and slowly, without breathing, ties them back with the ribbon in a neat little bow while the rest hangs loose underneath. She immediately turns down to the sink, too scared of what to expect and see. Her hands tremble and she almost laughs because it’s just a ribbon, but not all ribbons are like this one. Not all ribbons are _hers_.

She works herself up and when she does she's still, entranced.

Without the hair framing her face, Sumire appears much more open - almost innocent as she touches the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes behind her glasses are expressive instead of dour. The red cotton is a splash of sweet colour against the darker cascade of her hair and eyes, like an open vein gushing amongst rust. It’s clean, approachable, confident - _right_.

It’s perfect (like _her_ ).

She washes her face, brushes her teeth and makes sure she’s cleared up any trace of being here. It’s getting late. Today’s felt longer than it should’ve been, hanging off her bones like persistent sludge. Maybe she’s tired enough to finally get a decent sleep. Her eyes glance to the mirror as she’s about to leave. She still has the ribbon on. 

She stares at her reflection for a long, long time. The mirror shimmers, beckoning and bright. She doesn’t know why, but she sets her glasses aside and leans in with her hands combing through her hair. At some point, it’s up in a ponytail and it feels… **right.**

**The edges of the mirror glimmer like colourful crystal before they envelop her in a tinkling tide, encouraging her. Her hair ripens to an autumn brown, eyes darkening to match as she blinks. A mole winks under her eye and she laughs, relieved. Calmness enters her body and lightens her limbs as she’s suddenly full of energy. When was the last time she felt like this? Like herself? Like Kasu-**

The colours crack into splinters as she realises what the hell she’s thinking. She wrenches backwards into a tiny corner and tears the ribbon out of her hair. She can’t breathe, can’t do anything but heave and not get enough air. Her brain is waterlogged and sliding around her skull, untethered and sinking fast into the oncoming shame.

Aloud, she repeats to herself with what air she can get, eyes scrunched shut, “My name is Yoshizawa Sumire. Yoshizawa _Sumire_. I turned fifteen last March and I used to do gymnastics. I’m good at cooking and I’m starting high school in two days. I’m staying in Tokyo this year because everyone thinks it’s what’s best for me. I'm _Yoshizawa Sumire_.”

She loses count of many times she says her own name but eventually, she comes back down. Always has to. Her head thunks against the wall as her heartbeat slows. She leans there for a while and blinks the remaining rainbow out of her eyes, sick sitting heavily at the back of her throat.

At some point, Sumire stumbles against the sink again. Water splashes against her face one, two, three times and wets the front of her sweat-soaked shirt. When she chances a look in the mirror, Sumire sees a blanched girl with dilated eyes who’s nothing like the one she’d thought she was. There’s no mole, no brown, just red - in her hair, in her eyes and curled around her fingers in wires.

They look bloodstained. They _are_ bloodstained.

The guilt hits the hardest after moments like these. It surges up hot to crawl under Sumire’s skin like insects. The eyes of the crumpled ribbon are burning into her side from the floor, mocking as well as tempting her. _How dare you? How dare you? How dare you-_

Sumire heaves a heartbroken sigh, truly and thoroughly exhausted. She grips the sides of the sink while she stares down the poor reflection in the mirror, saying with an air of finality, “Get a hold of yourself, _Yoshizawa Sumire_. The only way you can get through this year is to move on from the past. No matter how much you want and want and want, Yoshizawa Kasumi is _gone_ , and trying to live a fantasy will only hurt more.”

(It’s unfortunate she doesn’t have the conviction to believe it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well would you look at that: another Arcanaswap AU! Granted, this has been in my drafts for over a year and there's been a surge of Arcanaswap fics being posted recently (go read strangelysweet's 'folie à deux' and deej_nicolson's 'Runaway') so I've finally thrown my hat into the ring!
> 
> I wanted to try and expand Sumi's character through a different lens - more angry and tired at herself and how people treat her. After playing Royal I saw the potential and wanted more from her confidant and then got... not much. SO yes. There’ve already been a few changes to the core timeline, and I'm excited to show what happens next. Let me know what you guys think!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Self-deprecating thoughts, hospital imagery, hints of PTSD, Kamoshida, some violence and a lot of bad headaches.
> 
> 13/02/2021 Edit: Fixed up some grammatical issues.

Turns out the meeting at Shujin is really only between Sakura, Principal Kobayakawa and Sumire’s teacher Miss Kawakami - them asking questions to Sakura while Sumire offers the occasional monosyllabic reply. Kobayakawa makes no effort to spare her feelings, listing to Sumire all the reasons that her place here is tenuous at best. Clearly they only accepted her because she’s a _Yoshizawa_ (even if she’s the wrong one, evidently). Her sudden arrival also muddled the teacher assignments, leading to Kawakami teaching Sumire’s first-year class instead of the planned class of second-years, something she doesn’t hide her disdain for either.

There’s a lot of teeth grinding on Sumire’s side as the adults openly discuss what an inconvenience she is. It’s not surprising, hell it’s almost impressive how she’s made everything worse for everyone before setting foot in this school. She’s just tired of having to listen to these conversations over and over again. Sakura has the audacity to look slightly sorry for her before returning to the glare he’s been directing at Kobayakawa since they arrived. It doesn’t make her feel better. In fact, it makes her feel worse.

A thought at the back of her mind constantly whispers how _she_ wouldn’t be treated like this.

By the time they’re back at Leblanc, it’s well into the evening. Traffic had been slow because a train derailed, another of the many accidents that have been happening across Tokyo recently. Sumire doesn’t want to think about it in case her thoughts turn morbid and further exhaust her, already tired from what Sakura has aptly called _a waste of my Sunday_. God, she isn’t looking forward to tomorrow...

Sakura gives her a leather book to journal her thoughts, which might’ve been a nice gift if he didn’t have to look through it to report back to her parents and psychiatrist every month.

He also instructs her to flip the sign closed every night, gives her his number and is halfway through the door when he turns to say, “By the way, whatever you did with your hair? Looks nice.”

Sumire doesn’t expect him to say that, didn’t think he’d notice that despite last night and all the promises she’d made, she’s wearing the ribbon again. It’s back in her loose hair because she’s greedy for the little bloom of confidence she gets when she remembers it’s there; different enough from her usual look yet similar enough to look like _her_. This and the fact she doesn’t get compliments often (especially not in recent months) is why Sakura’s little comment leaves her stunned for a good second while blood rises to her face. He’s already gone by the time Sumire thinks to thank him.

Huffing, she pats her cheeks to will away the pink in them. How embarrassing that she still so easily flusters and preens at the slightest praise. _He’s just being polite - nothing to overthink about_.

She gets ready for bed and folds the ribbon neatly next to her glasses on the windowsill. She looks at it for a long time, imagining herself with it, of _her_ and has to force herself to slip under the covers and look away in familiar guilt. Sumire knows it makes her weak, that _she’d_ never use a piece of fabric as a clutch, but she needs this - just a little good luck charm to at least survive this year alone. She only needs to remember that it’s _not her ribbon_ ; it can’t be because it belongs to _someone else_.

At least, that’s what Sumire tells herself as she falls asleep.

* * *

Sumire doesn’t remember being so cold.

Overwhelming blue is the first thing she registers as she wakes up, the second being that her cheek is mushed against something plusher than the mattress in the attic. With another shiver she realises she isn’t in the attic at all, instead sitting upright on a hard bed in an unknown square room; there’s a basic sink and toilet on the other side, which look disconcerting compared to the lavish, blue velvet padding covering the walls and the endlessly high ceiling.

Confused, Sumire looks down and double-takes at what used to be her pyjamas, now a starchy white hospital gown that brings up too many memories she’d rather forget. It’s freezing in here, mist seeping through the thin fabric and when Sumire curls inward for warmth her wrist tugs on something, which happens to be a metal shackle attached to what should be an IV stand, only the tube’s been replaced by a heavy chain. There aren’t any windows either, just a black metal door with a closed hatch barely wide enough to see out of. Sumire’s heart hammers. Logically, the only way any of this could exist is if she’s dreaming, which is somewhat comforting. Still, that doesn’t deter the rising anxiety of being trapped in a place like _this_.

Pins and needles flicker up her neck to settle at the base of her skull. If this dream is supposed to mean something, Sumire doesn’t want to know what it is.

The hatch slides open with a bang and her heart nearly bursts at the sound. Bright yellow light spills from it, tearing through the previous darkness so harshly that Sumire has to squint. Then another clang from the outside causes her to flinch, still recovering from the first.

A shrill voice shouts, “Up and at ‘em, Patient! It’s about time you came to!” _Patient?_ What did she do to become a patient? Is this supposed to be a hospital room?

Despite the wrongness now gnawing her stomach, Sumire finds the power to stand and stumble across the cold floor to the tiny window, the chain rattling with every movement until it pulls taut. Turns out the IV stand is bolted to the floor.

Through the hatch, Sumire sees two pairs of yellow, eyepatched eyes staring at her, the owners pacing back to fully reveal themselves as two almost identical young girls with white hair and blue uniforms - the one on the left with a braid and the other with a pair of buns. They scrutinise her, clinical and excited respectively, and Sumire doesn’t know what to do under their gaze. She hates how they might be twins.

The girls move away to showcase an outside beyond the room: Sumire can’t see much apart from a large blue carpet flourished with a gold V that matches the girls’ eyepatches and a wooden desk in the centre. An old man with a long nose sits there expectantly, looking up to meet her with bulging, bloodshot eyes. His smile’s unnervingly wide, as if Sumire’s discomfort is somehow fun to him.

“Ah, Trickster. Welcome to my Velvet Room,” he says in a booming tone that sends a cold shock down her spine. Whispers that aren’t hers brush under her skin, hissing in what she can only interpret as warnings.

Somehow, she manages to respond, albeit faintly. “T-trickster? Who are you? Why am I-”

Another clang reverbs from outside, cutting Sumire off as she yelps. It’s followed by the same shrill voice on her right, probably the girl with the buns, yelling, “How dare you talk back to our Master, Patient!?”

“You are here with us in a dream, while the you in reality continues to sleep,” explains a new, softer voice on Sumire’s left, which must be the plaited girl. Nothing feels explained. “Now, pay attention to our Master.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. It’s not like she has any other choice.

“I apologise for the delay. We encountered some obstacles that prevented us from meeting sooner,” the man says while drumming his fingers on the desk and perpetually smiling. “Nonetheless, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I am Igor. We are here in a place that exists between dream and reality, mind and matter; only those bound by a contract, such as yourself, may enter it.”

Sumire doesn’t remember signing any contract and the mention of a delay of some kind makes her worry about what all of _this_ entails. Too bad these people obviously have no intentions of letting her out. Beginnings of a headache splay against her forehead and push while the whispers grow in volume, telling Sumire to leave, leave, **leave-**

“Now, I summoned you here to discuss important matters, for you see, the world is not as it should be…”

Igor speaks of an oncoming ruin, one that Sumire must be _rehabilitated_ for to stop. He also speaks of fate, a game and her being something called a Trickster - none of which he explains further to follow the pattern. It’s all so ominous and so much bigger than her. There must be a mistake somewhere, because there’s no way the words _hero_ and _Sumire_ can exist in the same sentence without sounding paradoxical.

Igor’s grin somehow grows wider than it was before. “Soon, the time will come for you to begin your rehabilitation. With your unique circumstances, you shall no doubt be an interesting guest.”

_Unique circumstances? What could that possibly-_

Out of nowhere, Sumire’s head pulses so violently she has to lean against the velvet wall for support. Her vision blurs as colours simultaneously mute and saturate at random, as if the filters in her eyes are indecisive. God, she’s going to vomit, or die, or both in any order. Igor’s words scramble and reshape in her mind and it’s all so cold and wrong as the voices seethe to **leave, leave, you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t stay, you’ll only be hurt, hurt, hurt-**

“...eems ou… t...ime... up,” bits of Igor’s voice fizzle through the pain and what are now screams rending her brain. 

She can barely keep upright, barely _think_ over the sheer discomfort forcibly being injected into her body. She still has questions: why this is happening, why it has to be her and how the hell they expect her to save the world when all she does is ruin the good things in it; instead, her throat chokes while she shudders and distant tears leak down her cheeks. Black ebbs past the corners of her vision, encompassing the blue and the light and suddenly it’s everything. 

  
There's a vague feeling of her tilting, a deafening quiet and her falling down, down, and _down_.

* * *

Sumire doesn’t have time to think about the dream when she wakes up. Instead, she focuses on ignoring her budding headache and getting ready for her first-ever day of high school - something she isn’t looking forward to in the slightest. The fact she even feels this way is guilt-inducing; though it’s under these awful circumstances, why can’t she be grateful she’s experiencing it at all? It’s not like she’ll blossom the same way _she’d_ have - not when Sumire stole that from _her_.

She ties the ribbon tightly, as if it’ll rectify her guilt (it won’t).

Sakura’s downstairs and has made curry for breakfast. Sumire feels she’s pushing his generosity by eating his food, but he insists and it’s better than any curry she’s ever had. She eats while he sets up shop, a tentative silence wafting between them with the scent of brewing coffee. When she checks her phone to see if she’s gotten any texts from her parents (she hasn’t), she finds the eyeball app back in the middle of her screen with the same weird glow rippling around it. She pays it no mind - deleting it, picking up her bag and thanking Sakura for the meal.

“Make sure you get to the station soon, **Kasumi** ,” he calls out, though the end comes out garbled like radio static. Halfway through the door, Sumire halts, her heart never failing to stop at the mention of that name, especially when it’s used to address her. Figures that leaving her hometown wouldn’t stop these from happening.

Like always, she checks. “Excuse me?”

“I said get to the station soon, kid. Yesterday’s accident threw the trains off schedule, so you better get a move on unless you plan on getting lost.”

Right. It’s all in her head, as usual. She really should be used to this by now.

By the time Sumire gets to Aoyama-Itchome, the universe surprises her with an impromptu spring shower. Fitting. It compliments her mood and the dread mounting higher and higher the closer she gets to Shujin. From the awning she slips under, she watches dimly as droplets pluck cherry blossoms from their branches to be captured in puddles below. A familiar, cold unease fills her when she looks at the clouded sky, further chilling the water soaking her clothes. She doesn’t remember disliking rain when she was younger, maybe thinking it a necessary nuisance at worst, but now she can’t stand it. Sumire can’t trust rain to bring life anymore when all it brings her are memories from the single worst moment of hers. Sometimes, she can still feel the sensation of water **hitting her face, the air too cold to breathe, how every sound mutes out in the pitter-pattering and her own mind until it’s too late-**

Sumire slams a roadblock on that train of thought before it reaches the worst part, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid picturing it. No need to worsen her headache. Needless to say, nothing good ever happens to her when it rains.

She doesn’t even notice someone's running over until their footsteps stop. They’re tall and wearing a Shujin uniform, judging by the fitted pants and black blazer being held up to protect them from the rain. They’re also wearing an oversized, white button-up with a pattern of faded blue flowers at the bottom. Despite the effort, it’s unfortunately wet. Then the student lifts the blazer to drape it over their arm and Sumire gapes. Turns out it’s a boy - blue hair sweeping down a pale face and shimmery eyes complete with long lower lashes; he’s also wearing a striking yet simple black choker with a tiny silver key hanging over his collar. Sumire swears he’s an idol or model happening to wear her new school’s uniform for some shoot or concept, because there’s _no way_ someone this pretty goes here. The girls at her old school would kill to be in her spot right now.

...And she’s been staring at him for the past few seconds. _Shit._

Mortifyingly, the boy’s looking down at Sumire with those glittery eyes by the time she realises this. Then he gives her a little smile and Sumire wishes she could melt into the pavement from the embarrassment of making such an awkward mistake. At least she manages to smile back (wonkily) before fumbling for her phone as an excuse to look away, praying she isn’t blushing. When she opens it, the eyeball’s back and sitting there like it never left. A high, frustrated whine is on its way up her throat but she manages to keep it there (she doesn’t need to look any weirder). Her phone’s buggy at the best of times, but this is just getting ridiculous.

As Sumire’s about to delete it again, a car stops by, causing both her and the boy to look up. Its window rolls down to reveal a man with curly hair and a big chin. His gaze immediately latches onto her like something sticky and she has to step back in an attempt to get it off. He gives her an unsettling smile that makes Sumire want to hide and never show her face again. She already hates strangers looking at her, but this man is somehow so much worse.

“Good morning!” Oh no, now he’s _talking_ to her. “How about I give you a lift to school? You’ll be late.”

Everything in Sumire’s body is yelling she shouldn’t, and any gut-feeling this strong should be listened to. She’s about to tell him that no, she isn’t interested in whatever he’s thinking of when the boy steps in front of her and speaks in a deep voice. 

“Thank you, sensei,” he says as he walks to the car like everything’s fine. _Sensei?_

The man turns to her again, persistent. “And you?”

Just then, the boy subtly turns his head to her and his neutral face turns sober, eyes piercing and pleading in a way that screams _Don’t_. Sumire gets the message, swallows and hopes she at least looks polite as she provides the _teacher_ with a quiet, “No, thank you.”

They drive off, leaving Sumire rubbing her arms in an attempt to scrub off the lingering discomfort from the teacher’s stare. Now there’s a new pit in her gut. The rational part of her brain says she might be reading into this too much; those two clearly know each other, so maybe this is just a regular thing between a teacher and student? But the way the boy had acted like a barrier, the warning on his face before he got in… surely something must be wrong?

The pit grows deeper. She hopes he’s alright.

“Hey!” someone shouts from behind, blonde and white blurring past before a girl around Sumire’s age slows in time to watch the car drive farther down the road. She growls and kicks the pavement. “Got away… Damn you, Kamoshida…”

“Kamoshida?” Sumire blurts while distantly registering her phone buzz.

The girl turns around to flash the brightest blue eyes she’s ever seen and steals whatever air’s in Sumire’s lungs. She has uneven, chin-length hair with a visible undercut and four-leaf clover piercing on the outer conch of her ear. She’s wearing a red and white hooded varsity jacket over a black shirt, what Sumire recognises as Shujin’s uniform pants and white sneakers with pink laces. The girl strides over, a bit taller and far more intimidating up close, to scrutinise Sumire from top to bottom while Sumire involuntarily shrinks and tries to look anywhere else.

At some point, the girl sighs like she’s relieved, “Thank god you didn’t get in with him. Who knows what that creep could’ve pulled…” Clearly Sumire’s missing out on something because she has no idea what she means. Is she talking about the teacher? She mentions this and the girl stills, walking a few steps back with her eyebrow raised. She looks more confused than Sumire feels. “You’re joking, right?”

“No...” Sumire replies, too soft to sound even remotely sure.

“The guy in the car just now - _that’s_ Kamoshida.” At the utterance of his name, the girl’s face sours and her fists clench. She continues with a snarl, “He’s the gym teacher at Shujin, you know, _our_ school? Thinks he’s some king prancing around his stupid castle. How could you not-'' 

The girl’s rant stops short as something pulses against Sumire's skull, briefly knocking her off-balance. She worries this might be her headache getting worse, but the light-headedness disappears as soon as it comes, only a little pain remaining. Whatever's happened seems to affect the girl too, judging by the fact that her head’s in her hands.

Once recovered and groaning, the girl looks up and her eyes zero in on the first-year badge on Sumire’s blazer and just like that, her confusion washes out with the rain to turn into something bashful. “Oh. That’s why I haven’t seen you before.”

They stand there in awkward silence, the rain eventually letting up to a drizzle. Maybe Sumire should get going, get out of this girl’s way before she wastes more of her time- 

The girl clears her throat while playing with a stray end of hair, catching the grey light like silver or silk. “Sorry. For expecting you to understand everything, I mean. I just saw your uniform and… Yeah.” She shakes her head and shifts her weight to her other leg all nonchalant. “Let’s forget about that. Name’s Takamaki, second-year.”

Sumire just blinks, not really knowing what to do. Remembering the ribbon in her hair, Sumire imagines how _she_ would handle this, then promptly forgoes that idea because Sumire can’t do anything _she’d_ do without looking desperate and stupid.

Instead, she settles on simple and introduces herself while bowing lightly, “I’m Yoshizawa Sumire. It’s nice to meet you, senpai.”

The corners of Takamaki’s eyes crinkle slightly. Sumire’s not sure what to make of it.

Clearing her throat again, Takamaki turns to the grey sky, then back to Sumire to say, “Well, we better get going. This rain won’t wait on us forever.”

To that, Sumire nods, keeping her head down as she follows Takamaki the rest of the way. 

Eventually, they do arrive at Shujin Academy, if the sign beside the massive stone castle is to be believed. It’s impossible to miss, an eyesore with a moat dumped in the middle of a concrete school district. The air’s denser too, foreboding and hanging over them like the swirling pink sky overhead. Sumire doesn’t want to believe it’s real. One minute they’d been walking through some alleys and the next they’re in what might be another world. She must be seeing things, like what had happened in Shibuya with the flaming figure, only Takamaki seems to see it too, what with how she’s squinting…

“The hell is this…?” Takamaki asks while turning back to the alleyway they came from. “We went the right way...” Her eyebrows furrow in a way that scrunches up her whole face. It’s kind of endearing how Sumire can watch the cogs in Takamaki’s head turn in real-time so honestly. It makes the current situation a bit lighter.

Just a bit. Her headache pounds at her temples like nothing before and she doesn’t know why _._

“Might as well go in,” Takamaki ultimately decides and walks over the medieval drawbridge, which is a _terrible_ idea.

“W-wait!” Sumire tries to call her back while barely sounding loud enough. It’s a struggle when her own voice makes her wince.

Fortunately, Takamaki hears and looks at Sumire while one of her hands runs down a wooden support as if to test its authenticity. “What? What else can we do?”

“Leave…?”

Takamaki doesn’t even seem to consider it, scoffing, “And be caught by cops for not being at school? I’ll pass. Besides, there’s no way this isn’t some kind of prank.” 

Sumire wonders if there’s any other option that doesn’t involve leaving Takamaki behind, then eventually deciding there isn’t. She doesn’t want to be that kind of person, and the thin ice she’s on would break if the school thought she was ditching. She sighs, adjusting her glasses and jogging to catch up to Takamaki as they go through the large wooden doors, hoping all of this really is just a realistic prank.

She doesn’t get to see much of the entrance hall except for a checkered floor covered in rose petals, because someone shouts “Maidens!” and suddenly several suits of armour surround them and knock Sumire to the ground. She’s too caught off-guard to struggle, metal hands clamping down on her arms as she yelps. Takamaki puts up a fight, thrashing and even kicking off one of their helmets, though Sumire wishes she didn’t because all that’s under there is a shapeless, shadowy darkness with red dots for eyes instead of a face.

Her stomach drops like stone, head pulsing to the point she can’t see straight. This can’t be real. It can’t. It _can’t_ -

A blunt force hits the back of Sumire’s head before the panic truly sets in, everything going dark and silent apart from Takamaki’s distant scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Lovers Yusuke and Chariot Ann! Though not much of Yusuke’s shown, Ann’s here to fuck shit up and I love her. We’re on the cusp of Sumire’s awakening and the reveal of this story’s Magician Arcana, which I’m really excited about. Time to get Sumire some friends who cherish and support her like she deserves!
> 
> Also, the Velvet Room is now a hospital room, representing how Sumire feels like she’ll never be well and the long-term institutionalisation people with mental health problems in Japan face, as well as a hint of… something. :)
> 
> As always, enjoy and comments are appreciated!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Self-hatred, suicidal ideation, Kamoshida (implied/referenced sexual abuse/harassment and blatant misogyny), female nudity and objectification, blood and canon-typical violence.
> 
> This is gonna be a ride, friends!
> 
> 13/02/2021 Edit: Lol I know I just posted this but I ironed some things out.

“..ey… Hey… Hey!”

Sumire jerks, immediately being hit with a wave of dizziness as she sits up on… the floor? She tries to retrace her steps but it’s like looking through fogged up glass, not being helped by her headache returning with a vengeance. She has no idea where she is, her surroundings blurry and red. Where are her glasses? She needs her glasses. Not only can’t she see, but without them she looks too much like-

Following a huff, familiar plastic is placed in her hands and she immediately feels calmer. “At least you’re mostly in one piece. Here you go.”

Ah, right. Takamaki. Sumire softly thanks her before putting them on. Her vision clears to adjust to the dim room. Red velvet curtains cover the walls and drape from the ceiling while rose petals and candles are haphazardly scattered over the matching carpets. There are also multiple gold X’s with clasps situated randomly throughout the room and... Sumire doesn't want to think about what they’re for. 

They’re in a castle, suits of armour ambushed them… _Takamaki_.

Guilt stabs Sumire in the stomach and twists, mutilating her insides. She deserves it for being so selfish, so oblivious to the people around her. 

“Are you alright, senpai?” she finally asks while not quite meeting her gaze.

Takamaki lets out an exasperated puff of air. “I’m not the one who might have a concussion, but yeah, I’m fine enough,” she deflects despite her swollen knuckles, red and contrasting under animal-themed plasters. They remind Sumire how her’s used to look after training. “Those knight guys… They dumped us here for some reason and locked the door. I don’t care if this is some elaborate prank or movie set or… or whatever. All I know is we shouldn’t stick around to find out.”

“Yes...” Sumire nods, hoping to will away her headache for now.

They search the room for any potential escapes, maybe a vent or window, but the single gilded door seems to be their only way out. Takamaki insists there has to be _something_ , and as Sumire watches her continue looking with determination, she grimaces. 

A loathing as natural as breathing expands against her ribcage. It’s her fault they’re in this mess, dragging Takamaki with her to be hurt and trapped. If Takamaki had just walked past to continue her life Sumire-less, she’d no doubt be better for it. Hell, if Sumire was **more like** ** _her_** **, or better yet simply** ** _didn’t exist_** **, no one would be in this situation; the lives she’s touched never having to be ruined, never being here so she’d be instead: the one everyone wants, praises,** **loves _-_ **

Takamaki yanks another curtain, the sound bringing Sumire back to the present. She turns to see Takamaki’s wide eyes and what she’s looking at: hanging over another gold X is a portrait of a muscled man in nothing but a heart-patterned cape and gold crown, surrounded by roses and sparkles. It’s less than tasteless, yet there’s something familiar about it, spreading like an itch at the back of Sumire’s mind the longer she examines it. 

It’s with shock she recognises him as the teacher from this morning.

Takamaki murmurs, “Kamoshida… The hell is he-”

Then armoured footfalls march towards the door. Their heads snap to the sound, then to each other as both their stomachs drop. _Shit_.

The door slams open. Knights file in to block the exit, parting only as Kamoshida, looking identical to the painting, struts in. There’s a flash and suddenly moans and cries for _Kamoshida-sensei_ erupt around the room. Pink silhouettes of faceless girls appear out of nowhere to stretch and bend in seductive poses, each one with the same haircut, the same striped gym bloomers hugging their bodies and the same pair of lips. These are meant to be teenagers - the _bodies_ of teenagers. The high-pitched moaning burrows through Sumire’s ears like an awful wail at the same time her skin attempts crawling off her flesh in horror. _What the fuck._

Kamoshida walks up, his irises glowing a putrid yellow as he looks at Takamaki in sick amusement.

“Well, well, well… I heard there'd been some intruders, but I didn’t expect to see you here, Ann-chan,” he says lowly, his voice distorting like the demons in movies. Then he levels a stare at Sumire with the same hunger from when he offered to drive her to school, only this time blatantly predatory. “And you brought a friend! Funny, I thought you didn’t have any.” He bends closer, gaze fixating on Sumire’s legs before she backs away. He chuckles, “Cute too.”

Takamaki rushes in front of him before he can get a better look, pushing Sumire behind her to forge some distance between the two of them. Despite the sheer revulsion coursing through her veins, Sumire can’t find it in herself to move on her own. She’d probably be petrified in place if not for Takamaki. It’s pitiful.

“Shut your mouth, Kamoshida! What the hell are you even doing here?! And what are you wearing?!” Takamaki demands and properly shifts into a fighting stance.

“You’ve got some nerve talking to a king like that,” Kamoshida warns as his expression darkens. “This is my castle. I do whatever I please here. Clearly you have no idea how much trouble you’re in, but…” His glower melts into something thoughtful, then devious. “You always were a feisty one. You can still make up for all the times you’ve refused me. If you’re good, I’ll even let your punishment slide. Whattaya say? It’ll be worth your while~” he purrs and pushes his cape to the side, revealing nothing but a speedo and hairy legs. Sumire want to throw up, for her and on Takamaki’s behalf. God, this is vile. This can’t be real, _it can’t-_

Without warning, Takamaki fearlessly stomps on his shoe. He yowls, face crumpling in pain while Takamaki leans towards his face and spits, “Not a chance, asshole.”

Like the crack of a whip, a slap echoes off the room’s high ceilings. Takamaki stumbles off-balance while clutching her cheek.

“Senpai!” Sumire cries but remains where she is. 

Kamoshida recomposes himself with a snarl and snaps his fingers. “Hmph, fine.”

Striding past Kamoshida, the knights surround Takamaki, grip her by the shoulders and lift her off the ground. As she struggles, one of them drives the pommel of its sword into her stomach and all air rushes from her body in one fell swoop, leaving her coughing and limp. Sumire only gasps with hands to her mouth, watching like a coward.

“Hold her there. I want her to suffer before she’s executed,” commands Kamoshida and… Did she hear that right? _Executed?_

Takamaki sputters, “What…?”

“You brought this on yourself. For unlawful entry into my castle, refusing my affections and worst of all, assaulting me - the king - both of you are to be executed.”

The knights’ swords glint with new malice and Sumire’s suddenly very, very cold. _No. no. nononono-_

“W-wait! Leave her out of this!” Takamaki pleads, thrashing against the guards’ hold all the while Kamoshida’s shadow towers over her, cracking his knuckles with intent. 

“Stop it!” Sumire (finally) manages to speak. Her head pounds with the rapid beat of her heart with **no, no, shouldn’t have done that, going to be hurt, hurt, pain pain pain-**

Kamoshida pauses to slowly turn around, narrowing his eyes. “What? You think you can save her?” He barks out a laugh, “Ha! What good is a sweet little thing like you gonna do against _me_? Maybe if you learn what happens to those who go against me, you’ll be better behaved.” Kamoshida looks to the guards again, who seem to have multiplied. “Keep the redhead still. I’ll have the blonde one killed right now.”

Takamaki’s struggling stops. “N-no...” and all Sumire can hear is **look what you’ve done, your fault,** **_your fault_**.

Her back hits the wall as the knights pin Sumire down, one pulling hard on her scalp as Takamaki is lifted by the throat with a sword pointed to her chest. Sumire wants to scream in something, _anything_ , but she can’t; instead, cold numbness spreads through her body like venom, resignation sinking and weighing her down because **another person’s about to die in her stead. Rain pelts from above, a body crumpled in the middle of the road, red blooming from** ** _her_** **head like a flower - dead because of Sumire.**

**Nothing but a waste, a burden, a murderer-**

A voice, playful and intimate, pierces through the nothing and vicious whispers, and it might be the low light, the colours or the headache but she swears she sees a butterfly flutter past. 

**_Well? Are you going to sit there as a life perishes before your enamel eyes once more? You know doing nothing means her death._ **

But Sumire can’t do anything; all she’s ever done is ruin and worsen no matter how hard she tries. If _she_ were here-

**_Do you truly believe you can’t do anything, or is that simply what the world has told you? Isn’t it them who deem you worthless, dismissing you without allowing you the chance to dance something of your own?_ **

Sumire’s mouth goes dry. Of course she hates how everyone sees _someone else_ when they look at her, expecting the same until realising they won’t get it. She’s used to being looked down upon, cast aside and ignored because that’s simply what she’s worth - nothing. But at the same time, there’s always a flicker of something dangerous making her want better because there must be... good things in Yoshizawa Sumire. Surely she’s worth more, can do more, than what everyone's told her. Something that… that Kasumi used to see. Why else would she share her dream with her?

**_Do you want to prove them wrong?_ **

The numbness simmers into a hot, broiling mass. She knows what she feels now, not just towards this stupid castle and Kamoshida, but to everything: being sent alone to Tokyo, abandoned by everyone who'd said they loved her, letting the constant comparisons, pity and neglect shape the way she thinks of herself. This feeling…

It’s rage.

**_So, will you build yourself anew, or continue to play as a hollow doll of the past?_ **

With a swallow, Sumire grits her teeth. She commits this moment to memory - to never let anyone die because of her again. She may not be Yoshizawa Kasumi, the one everyone wants, but she’ll just have to do. Distantly, the other voices hiss **no, no,** **_no_** **, you’ve always wanted to be** ** _her_** **, being her is better, better, not this, only hurt will come from being you, only hurt** but they’re overpowered by the tinkling laugh stirring in her soul.

**_Yes… Magnificent._ **

And with a pulse, it’s all utter _agony_.

Against the restraints of the knights, Sumire writhes as liquid fire pumps through her veins so hard and fast they might be bursting. Every nerve in her body crackles in pain, wave after wave ravaging her from the inside out. She wants to scream, to cry, even die if it’ll make this torture stop. Even so, the voice grows louder, reverberating through her bones with manic laughter and riding with the pain like it’s easy.

**_I am thou… thou art I. Heed my call, and together we’ll dance like a soul possessed, bearing the face of the beloved and wreak havoc with it! They’ll regret ever underestimating you, for no longer shall your heart be their plaything!_ **

One last scream exits Sumire’s throat, raw and leaving the taste of blood in her mouth. Something heavy rests on her face and the longer it stays, the more it itches, digging into her skin like hardening cement. She wrenches the guards’ hands off in a fit of strength she never knew she had so her hands can fly to the foreign surface, pulling until skin tears and blood spills. But Sumire doesn’t care because with a final tug, it’s gone. Her pupils burn hot, heart beating fast with fury and growing mania as she’s encased in a blue inferno, the pain dissipating into embers. Chains circle as the fires rise above, forming the shape of what Sumire recognises as the figure from her first day in Tokyo. 

It feels like coming home.

The azure dies down and Sumire feels different, good even. She looks around in wild glee at the destroyed room - knights scattered and missing armour, curtains torn asunder and the disgusting pink girls nowhere to be found. In front of her, Takamaki lies on the floor stunned and to the side, the scared look on Kamoshida’s face is priceless.

Unfamiliar fabric shifts over Sumire’s skin and she belatedly realises she’s somehow changed clothes. She’s now wearing a black halterneck unitard with a white ribbon across her torso and violet organza connecting the bust to a black choker around her neck, as well as separate puff sleeves of similar violet material covering her mid-biceps to the black ruffled wrists at the ends; over the unitard is a black fitted and sleeveless jacket with white trimming and the coattail gradually fading from black to translucent violet. A black leather belt and scabbard adorned with a silver rose clinks weightily on her hip, her feet are fitted in white ballet flats with matching ribbons tying up her calves and as Sumire flexes her hands, she finds them clad in red leather gloves. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly dressed like this, but with how light and nimble she feels, she decides she likes it.

A giggle echoes behind her and Sumire gasps in awe at the flaming figure’s true form: a beautiful ballerina made of polished black porcelain with red and white moth forewings replacing her arms. Half her face is covered by a blank, white doll mask, but the mischievous eyes and wide, heart-lipped grin in the shape of a crescent moon are impossible to miss - painted white on her face to match her high bun tied in a large red bow; she wears a black bodice over a sleeveless white leotard and a vibrant red tutu, which has a pattern of blue wheat stalks and silver broken hearts running along the frills. Parts of her glint silver, such as her circle cheeks, the wind-up key spinning in her back, the cracked heart embedded in her sternum and the blue-tipped knives at the ends of her legs that remind Sumire of pointe shoes. She curtseys, a face being put to a voice. 

**_I am the doll-like dancer, Swanhilda! Finally we meet face-to-face, though I’ve always lived deep within you. Now, this dollhouse deserves some chaos. Let’s cause it!_ **

Kamoshida, now sweating, cries out for the guards as he scrambles backwards. Two reanimate and melt into black and red sludge, exploding to fully transform into smiling pumpkins with capes and hats. Sumire feels Swanhilda cackle, and one vanishes in a flurry of red tendrils shooting up from the floor. The other Sumire takes on herself, a rapier with a swept silver hilt now in her hand and slashing it to pieces as if she always knew how. While Kamoshida’s stunned in fear, Takamaki tackles him to the floor and renders him motionless. She looks to Sumire, then to the exit while Sumire does the same. Once they meet each other’s gaze, they know they have the same idea:

“Run for it!”

* * *

They return to the real world extremely late for school.

The teacher who greets them at the now normal school gates doesn’t seem surprised at Takamaki being late, ignoring her attempts to explain why (not that anyone would believe them) and accusing her of ditching. As much as Takamaki’s helped, Sumire can’t exactly vouch for her here, being the new kid. While she’s escorted away, she glances to Sumire one more time as if to say something, but she disappears behind the doors before she can. 

There goes the only person Sumire knows. It’s all unknown territory from here.

The front entrance bustles with students. It must be break, and even though she hasn’t been here for most of the day, people are whispering about her. No one looks her in the eye, instead turning to gossip in not so hushed voices as they pass her by.

“Never seen her before… Is she a first-year?”

“Couldn’t even show up to school on time… Does she even care?”

“I heard she came in with Takamaki. She’s already been corrupted.”

Sumire reflexively hunches her shoulders, gaze to the floor. It’s like she’s a walking attraction to these people. God, she’s too exhausted for this.

**_They don’t know anything. Pay them no mind._ **

Sumire blinks a few times. She hasn’t heard this voice before. Except, she has. It sounds like her, only brighter. It’s...

**_I am thou, thou art I. Therefore, I’m always with you, whether it’s here as Sumire, or there as Swanhilda. Isn’t that interesting?_ **

Sumire finds herself smiling privately, a warmth thrumming inside her heart. For once, she’s glad to have another voice in her head. At least it’s nicer than all the other ones she’s heard today.

Then a massive shadow stands in front of her, and it’s none other than Kamoshida, now looking like a normal human. Her face drops, posture curling in again as Swanhilda shifts defensively. Unfortunately she makes the mistake of looking up and there’s a flash of recognition in his eyes the second they make eye contact. Sumire tries not to obviously swallow, worries he knows what happened in that castle but then he… smiles at her, blissfully ignorant.

“Hey there. You that first-year? Ms. Kawakami’s been waiting in the faculty office for you all day, so you better hurry. It’s on the second floor,” he says while trying to sound charming. Internally, Sumire bristles at how fake it sounds. She nods, prepared to walk off when he stops her again. “You look familiar… Have we met somewhere?”

The panic comes back momentarily while Sumire thinks up an excuse. “A-at the station.”

“Oh! That’s right. You know, if you’d let me drive you, you wouldn’t have been so late. You missed orientation. Maybe consider next time? A sweet little thing like you isn’t safe getting around with those accidents happening all the time.”

_Sweet little thing_. Something hot gathers at Sumire’s fingertips, all the disgusting things he did in that castle flooding behind her eyes. However, she breathes in, keeps it there, and replies, “Thank you for offering, but I’ll make sure to be on time from now on.”

Kamoshida seems surprised. Clearly he isn’t used to being told no. “Alright then.” He leans down and Sumire fights the impulse to jerk away, his voice dangerous, “I heard you were with Takamaki when you came in. Word of advice: stay away from that troublemaker. I’m sure you know from the principal, but you really don’t want to cause any trouble for the school, especially with those… mental problems of yours.”

Sumire wants to throw up, or punch him. _How does he know? How the fuck does he know-_

**_Hush. Don’t let this fool get to you._ **

As if he hadn't just been threatening her, Kamoshida straightens back to his full height and smiles again. “Well, don’t wanna keep you from Ms. Kawakami any longer. Be sure to stop by my office in the practice building if you need any help.” Sumire mutters a thank you, hiding her fists in her lap as she walks up the stairs. She feels his eyes burning into her back all the way.

Kawakami looks more than exhausted by the time Sumire enters the faculty office, demanding explanations Sumire can’t really give. Mumbling under her breath about having to do this, she takes Sumire to her classroom on the third floor while warning her to go with what she says and not to say anything unnecessary. The class goes silent the moment they step inside, the next erupting in barely-concealed whispers. They stare at Sumire, scrutinising her every move and she swears she feels each eyeball scurrying across her body.

Kawakami clears her throat, “Settle down." The class quietens somewhat. “Good. Now I’d like to introduce a new classmate: Yoshizawa **Kasumi**. She couldn’t be here earlier because she wasn’t feeling well. Now," she turns to Sumire, "Please say something to the class.”

**_You know what’s true and what’s not._**

Right. Ignoring the staticky introduction, Sumire bows and greets the class. “I-I’m Yoshizawa Sumire. I hope we all get along well.” 

A few students start to talk under their breaths. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep neutral.

“She seems normal…”

“Yeah, but she was with Takamaki. Apparently that’s never a good sign.”

“I bet it’s all an act. She’s just acting polite to get on everyone’s good side. What a suck-up.”

“Right… Um…" Kawakami hums in thought, looking around the room. "You can sit over there, behind Isshiki-san.”

Said girl jolts at her name, chunky glasses sliding skew and her two orange braids swaying behind her chair. She seems determined to avoid eye-contact with Sumire at all costs, looking straight ahead as Sumire sits down and sticking an arm awkwardly behind her back to lend her a textbook. _How nice_.

School finishes early because of the subway accident. Before Sumire’s about to go home, Kawakami brings her aside outside the classroom. She seems sympathetic. 

“Listen, you’re already on shaky ground with these health issues, and now everyone’s talking because you came late with Takamaki-chan. The last thing you need is to bring attention to yourself, so please don’t get involved with her. She’s nothing but-”

“Nothing but what?” asks Takamaki, who conveniently saunters up with a raised eyebrow.

Kawakami sighs with her whole body. “Look who it is… I heard you were cutting classes today.” She looks over Takamaki and wrinkles her nose. “You’re also a walking uniform violation. How many times have I told you to wear the school skirt? And you could at least try hiding that piercing and undercut.”

Takamaki shrugs, scraping something off her heel with her other shoe absent-mindedly. “Whoops. Forgot.” Then she goes to Sumire and clearly whispers, “Meet me on the rooftop. Don’t take long,” before walking away with what Sumire notices is a slight limp.

“See? That’s exactly what I mean when I say not to get involved. You should also head straight home. Sakura-san sounded quite upset when I called earlier.”

Sumire gulps. She doesn’t want to know what an angry Sakura looks like. Still, she heads up the stairs, ignoring how the other students murmur it’s off-limits. When Sumire arrives, Takamaki’s sitting with her legs kicked up on an abandoned desk and upon seeing her, she straightens up to sit cross-legged.

“Hey. Didn’t think you’d actually show,” she says. “Sorry. I bet Kawakami’s told you not to bother with me, huh?”

Guiltily, Sumire nods and shuffles to sit on an adjacent desk. “How did you know?”

Takamaki sighs dramatically, “Everyone says that about me. I used to be in her class. I think she liked me, but now… Yeah.” Clenching her fists in her lap, she leans forward. “You know what I wanna talk about. That castle, Kamoshida… almost getting murdered…”

“It seems like a dream…”

“But it wasn’t, right? You remember it?” asks Takamaki, staring intently with those bright eyes and waiting for Sumire to agree. She does, and Takamaki seems glad. “Yeah. Besides, it fits way too well with how he really acts.”

“Like what?”

“An abusive creep who thinks he can do whatever he wants. He’s an Olympic medalist who took the volleyball team to nationals, so the school treats him like a god and lets him get away with everything. No one has the guts to stand up to someone when they’re a selling point… I should know.” Sumire catches her glance at her knee, bitter with a hint of regret. Then Takamaki leans back on her hands to look Sumire head-on. “But you did. You don’t even know me and saved my life so…” her face softens almost shyly, “Thank you.”

Sumire feels herself blush, remembering how fearless and angry she’d been while cutting down those monsters. No one would believe it was her if they'd seen her. 

“O-of course. But you also stood up to him, Takamaki-senpai. You saved me too.”

Takamaki groans, apparently self-conscious, “Eh, it’s nothing. And enough of the senpai stuff. It’s super awkward. Just call me Ann.”

In her mind, Sumire tests it. It fits. “Alright, Ann.”

Ann beams and it's almost too bright. “Much better. Can I call you by your first name too? Sumire, was it?” Sumire nods. “Cool! Sumi it is!” Sumire’s about to correct her, her face way too warm for this spring weather but Ann rocks forward to stand, stretching and yawning casually. “We should probably head home. I can walk you to the station if you want? Girls like us should stick together.”

For the first time in ages, Sumire smiles genuinely, however small it might be, and nods. After this mess of a day, it’s nice to know something good came out of it. Swanhilda twirls in her soul, grinning.

**_Friends with the outcast. How daring!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first awakening! There was so much back and forth between what initial Persona Sumire should have, the design being even trickier, but ultimately I decided on Swanhilda - the protagonist of the ballet Coppelia who dresses as the life-like doll not only to prove her fiance wrong, but to save his soul from getting sucked out by Doctor Coppelius, causing havoc in the process. I hope Sumire’s thief outfit looks alright… It took forever to visualise.
> 
> Also sorry for the late post. This chapter took a little longer to write because the timeline of events kept changing, like Sumire doing first-year things and her circumstances not immediately being known to Shujin. I’ve been given the power to alter canon and I can’t stop. Help.
> 
> Sadly we didn’t get the Magician in this chapter. Looking through Royal footage, the room they’re in (where Ann awakens to her Persona in canon) is like, right next to the main entrance, so they didn’t need much help escaping. Instead, surprise classmate Futaba (it’s the first day so I imagine all the first-years are in proper uniform. Her modified one will come soon) and more Ann!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Comments are always appreciated!


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